


Do Over?

by HepG2



Series: Heroic Ages: The Unforgiven [2]
Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Drama, Epic Friendship, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Plothole Fill, Protective Steve Rogers, Siege (Marvel), Steve Rogers-centric, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-31 21:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12690597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HepG2/pseuds/HepG2
Summary: Following the events of Stark: Disassembled, Tony lies comatose after a cognitive reboot. Watched over by Dr Donald Blake, he is kept safe, hidden from the public eye - even from the recently resurrected Steve Rogers. Osborn lays waste to Asgard, and Steve calls the Avengers to arm. His voice reaches Iron Man, and Iron Man heeds it.Is forgiveness impossible after all?[Basically, an in-depth exploration of all the feels that are missing from Siege].





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So many missed opportunities to delve into the Steve-Tony bromance. LET'S FIX IT! And I would _love_ to whump Tony some more in my fanfic, so here goes. This work is intended to be part of a collection of three to four stories (this one focuses on Siege, the next on Avengers Prime, and the one after will star the Illuminati - because let's be honest, that's the best backstabbing dick-move Tony has pulled on Steve... oh wait...).
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it. 
> 
> Even if you're unfamiliar with the comic material, I hope you still give this a try :) There will be references made to canon material of course, but the main body of the story still centres on Steve/Tony -ship.

 

Gone for a couple of months – years? – and it’s like he’s never been to America. Waking up seventy years later to an all new, all different New York – with traffic jams and skyscrapers and noise pollution every other corner he turns is one thing, but Norman Osborn as the new Daddy in town? Jesus Christ. Steve Rogers turns off the television when his imagery nausea gets too bad. Osborn yapping about his version of peace, justice and liberty makes the hair on his very forearm stand on ends. He sighs, and leans into his straight-back wooden chair, the dining table he’s resting his elbow on devoid of leftovers, courtesy of one Tommy Shepherd. He thinks he saw Tommy not too many hours ago. Not the whole person of course – more like a flicker of his profile, or his shadow. The number of times he’d told the kid to stop for a hot second, and walk like normal humans do. Steve was young once. What goes into his left ear, pours right out of the right.

 

Steve knows another one with no regards for the lethality of speed, or the value of taking life easy, one minute at a time. That man, wise as he is beyond his age, loves the air zipping past him as he cuts through it, breaking supersonic when he feels like it. Made hundreds of flying suits of armour to serve the purpose.

 

Steve hasn’t seen Tony Stark after the whole shenanigans with the magic bullet. Bullshit if Tony has never been on his mind since. He’s thinking of Tony now. His cell phone lies dejectedly in front of him, its screen dark. The last message he received is still burnt into his retina.

 

_Tony’s vitals are still weak, but growing stronger each day. I’m sorry I still can’t tell you where we are, but rest assured, he’s safe where he is._

Dr Donald Blake is kind enough to text him regularly about Tony’s condition. It’s one of the many regrets roiling in his chest – not reaching out to Tony soon enough. He’s watched the news, read the papers, heard the rumours. The last year hasn’t been kind to Tony. What Osborn did to him? Oh, Osborn will get what’s coming. The Avengers will see to it. It’s nothing personal – Steve crosses his arms across his chest – assault is assault, especially with intent to cause grievous injury to a fellow citizen, unarmed, weakened as Tony was.

 

They told him Tony deleted his brain. How the heck was that even possible, Steve can only justify with a shake of his head and Tony-does-what-Tony-does-best. By some obtuse miracle that stunt didn’t kill him. It was supposed to, and when Steve learned about it after the fact, he was too weary-hearted to be surprised.

 

It’s better this way. Maybe. Tony, hidden somewhere, unconscious. Asleep. Oblivious to the circus in town. Away from Steve. He wonders if Tony has heard of his return from the dead.

 

He wonders if it tore Tony apart.

 

He still hasn’t figured out what to say when they finally meet face to face. Sooner or later. Probably sooner _than_ later. Can’t keep avoiding each other forever.

 

“Is Tony alright?”

 

Steve turns to the fridge where Jessica Drew is suddenly leaning against, ankles crossed and a knowing, sad smile playing on her lips. Her Spider-Woman getup is sporting some mud on the knees, but Steve says nothing of it. These folks, their hearts are in the right place. No sanctions, no laws can hold them back if they know they’re needed. At least one person was protected today.

 

“You’re brooding again, Steve.”

 

Steve huffs in indignance. “I do _not_ brood.”

 

“Is Dr Blake updating you on Tony’s condition? Is he getting better?”

 

“He is. It’s… taking longer than expected.” Getting hurt – sometimes, _really bad_ – in line of duty comes within the territory. This job? The number of times he sat beside Tony’s bed, and Tony by his, he’s lost count. This has to be one of the rare touch-and-go’s that Steve is absent from. Despite the bad blood between them, knowing that a brother is fighting his battle someplace else keeps Steve up at night.

 

“You’re worried.”

 

“I’m always worried.”

 

“When he wakes up, you’re taking a day off from Avengers duty. You two need to sort things out pronto. Nuh-uh, no buts, Cap. Last time you don’t talk to each other, you almost tore this country apart. And then, _you died_. Fun times. Once is really enough. Please.”

 

“Thank you. I appreciate your concern,” Steve begins to rise from his seat, “but, the goings of the world continue with or without him. Time waits for no man, Jess.”

 

“… No, it does not.”

 

“We can’t be twiddling thumbs with Osborn in charge of national security –”

 

“Cap!” The ruckus Clint is kicking up – it’s a small house. It’s going to wake everyone up! And Clint being Clint, he yells for Steve three more times as he races down the staircase before he finally pokes his head through the door. “Turn on the TV. Any channel will do. Oh hey, Jess.”

 

Ignoring the renewed sense of dread, Steve obliges, and turns up the volume. More people are filing into the kitchen, making up the volume as they watch what’s going on live from Broxton, Oklahoma. Asgard floating above the fields is old news by now, but seeing it in flames, wrought in smog and fires?

 

“Is that _Thor_?” Steve catches a whisper from the back, and his heart seizes. Isn’t Dr Blake supposed to be keeping a vigil over Tony? Thor is a _wreck_ , lying in a pool of his blood in the centre of a crater. Broken. Defeated.

 

_These images you are seeing are live. The Mighty Thor is being brought down by Norman Osborn and his Avengers. Word from Osborn’s camp is that this is in retaliation for the Chicago incident last night. We have been given unprecedented access to this initiative and we will keep reporting live for as long as – hold on, hold on!_

“This can’t be real…” Jess shifts beside him.

 

_Yes, we have just received word. Thor is down. I repeat, Thor has been taken down. Oh, my goodness, stay with us… we’re still trying to piece together –_

Steve rounds the dining table and sizes everyone up. “Avengers! Listen up!”


	2. Chapter 2

It _has_ been a while, and after all the muck he had led them to wade through, how nose-deep they were in it, asking a favour must sound rich. “Thor is down, but he’s not out.” If there’s any one in the crowd who wants to sock him one in the jaw, he hopes they’ll do it _after_ they have successfully defended their Asgardian allies. “Listen up. I know I’ve been away for a while, but now I’m back, and I look around, and I can’t stand what I see.” Yep, rich. Definitely rich. “Osborn! I don’t care who put him in power and I don’t care what he did to get there. All I see now is a madman leading a march of troops into battle and for the life of me I can’t see why. To me, it looks and feels a lot like the events that made me want to be Captain America in the first place.”

 

Luke Cage coughs politely into his fist.

 

“I know not everyone here sees eye-to-eye… and I know we had to go so far as to defend ourselves against each other. But if you choose to stand up and be counted, then I think you agree with me. It’s time to take back this country! Our friends and allies are being attacked, maybe killed. And we’re going to go do something about it.”

 

Nobody roll eye or squint. Steve counts that as a win. “Suit up. Be at the hangar in thirty.”

 

It’s a two-hour flight to Broxton if they travel in a straight line from here. He’s packing light, so he’s also first one to show up by the Quinjet.

 

“Master Rogers!”

 

 _Second_ one to show up. Steve lowers his shield so it hangs limply by his side, and greets Edwin Jarvis with a wan smile. Jarvis looks good, all things considered. How he knows the Avengers’ rendezvous spot is something that _should_ logically be on the top of his to-find-out list – is Tony spying on them _again?_ – but he can’t deny the blossoming cheer in his stomach as Jarvis steps out of the shadows to approach him.

 

He does not come empty handed. Steve’s eyes shoot immediately to the nondescript suitcase Jarvis is totting. “Master Rogers, how very good to see you once more.”

 

Jarvis reminds him of home, just as how he reminds Tony of his. And Tony’s ominous absence drums ever louder in the recesses of his mind.

 

“Will you take this?” Jarvis offers him the suitcase. The weight is familiar. He hasn’t seen this particular model in _ages._ Tony’s fault. Man builds suits as quickly as he changes arm candies. “It’s… just in case. I happen to know he is there. Nearby. Be a good man and help him, won’t you?”

 

Jarvis certainly has more to say. There’s something else welling in his eyes, but he simply turns around and leaves, not expecting anymore from Steve. So, Steve readjusts his grip on the suitcase, holds it closely to his chest in the crook of his arm as he fastens his shield against his back.

 

He spots Jessica loading a crate onto the Quinjet. She pauses when she sees him, and asks, “What’s that?”

 

“… A promise.”

 

As Captain America, he next passes the suitcase to the Shepherd kid and instructs him to guard it with his life. Run really fast, and look around the neighbourhood for Tony Stark. It’s one heck of an order, and he feels kind of sorry for the kid to say “Yessir” without daring to ask the necessary question, “Uh, is there an address I can find Mr Stark at?”

 

God knows.

 

As Steve Rogers, he wishes Shepherd never found Tony. Or if he did, Tony wouldn’t wake until hell blows over. Because… too soon. He stews over the issue in silence until Luke busts open a can of Coke as obnoxiously as he can that he realises his stormy mood has affected the rest of the Quinjet. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

 

Why does it matter? If Tony makes it here, good, more firepower, and they darn need all that they can muster. If Tony _can’t_ , fine by him. They can wait another day. What’s more important is to get to Oklahoma soon enough before it’s all but dust and pebbles.

 

“This ain’t your mama’s minivan. This is a SHIELD transport.” Nick Fury is standing by Control, breathing down the Avengers’ necks. “Hit it, Daisy.” And behold, a wormhole of sort appears right before the nose of their jet. It’s wow enough. Did Tony have a hand in designing this? Out front, Fury grins like Christmas comes early. “When you absolutely positively need to get your world security task force around the world…”

 

Two hours be damned. In the next blink of the eye, Steve is staring out at Broxton, Main Street.

 

In the thick of a war, in the midst of battle roars and explosions and plasma rays, Steve is _dead sure_ he tracks a speck of red and gold soaring through the stratosphere. There’s a litmus test he can do to check if Iron Man is onsite. A private frequency that is only open between Captain America and Iron Man. Steve eagerly turns it on, and Tony’s name is about to roll of his tongue, when he catches himself before the first syllable and he says, “Iron Man?”

 

It stings a little when all he gets is static. But –

 

“Steve Rogers! You’re under arrest!”

 

_Jesus Christ._

 

Steve raises his shield in the nick of time, Iron Patriot’s repulsor blast reflecting off the smooth surface like dew on leaves. “Funny that, Osborn. I was just about to say the same thing to you!”

 

And Osborn goes absolutely frenzy. With both his gauntlets facing skyward, he lights it up and screams, “You’re _all_ under arrest! You’re all going to _fry_ for – for – for treason!”

 

Steve shuts him up with an uppercut. The clank of metallic jaws rattling against vibranium is music to his ears. And for whatever reason, Osborn remains still on the ground, and Steve’s eyes narrowed. Playing possum is beneath even for the likes of Osborn… so what gives?

 

His earpiece crackles to live. “That would be me, Norman.” And Steve looks up to the parapet. “You know, that whole thing about he giveth and taketh away, yeah? I’ll have your armour – I mean, the armour you _stole_ from me – shut down for good in just a couple of seconds.”

 

Steve senses more than sees Tony’s own eyes raking his face. “Anything you want to say before Captain America pulls off your head?”


	3. Chapter 3

The bad news is, Iron Man joining the fray isn’t enough a boost of firepower for what’s coming. Osborn going literally green in the face and near-insane is nothing more than a fucking footnote on an odyssey in which the Sentry reigns supreme. Correction. The _Void_ reigns supreme, and he tears Loki apart like cotton candy. Steve shoves the terror down his throat and fights – _protects_ – for today is not a day worth surviving if he lets one more man fall when he could’ve done something about it.

 

Tony fights, too. Relentless in his antique of an armour. But it’s there. The vigour, the spirit. The devil-may-care attitude Fury would’ve given him an earful for during debriefings – that still hasn’t changed. Tony hijacks a Helicarrier and throws it into the Sentry’s face – Steve suspects there was a woman on board when Tony reprogrammed the mainframe. It’s not _lethal_ enough, but it gives back Bob Reynolds his heart, his memory of what it’s like to be human and an Avenger.

 

His death… is merciful.

 

Before they cart Osborn into an idling armoured truck, Jessica strides past and _punches_ him in the nose. “Should’ve done this from the very beginning,” she huffs, and flings her dark hair over her shoulder. “Asshole.” She winks at Steve, who seems determined to look at everywhere else but her. Steve is doing headcounts. Everybody wants a pat on the back, go home – but, he needs to make sure. “Hello? Earth to Steve?”

 

“Where’s Tony?”

 

The Avengers – and by that, Steve means the ones who answered Captain America’s call, meaning, the Anti-Reg _and_ those who hate Tony Stark’s guts – look like they’re about to throw up, like something just died under their nose. They can’t have forgotten about Tony Stark? He gets that they haven’t fought and bled on the same team in a while. Out of sight, out of mind, but Steve calls bullshit on that.

 

“Tony?” Steve calls out, and immediately the chatters surrounding him die. Steve walks through the ranks of the Avengers, his pace erratic when he can’t find that scowling, gold titanium alloy faceplate – Tony is rather fond of the design, says it intimidates the baddies really well –

 

“Tony! Dammit, anyone seen him?”

 

And Steve keeps searching. He does it alone. Tonight exemplifies how some wounds don’t heal as fast. He suspects repealing the SHRA has a higher rate of success than getting Jessica or Luke or Peter – hell, _everyone_ – to look at Tony in the eye, smile, all without the littlest desire to murder him the soonest he turns his back.

 

The wind changes direction, and the dust sweeps away. The air clears, and by the slabs of concrete and torn up tarmac, Iron Man stands in the distance. Steve runs, the edge of his shield digging into his tailbone with each step. The strap has loosened with time – Tony used to maintain it for him every other week, making sure it’s taut and adjusted to the right height.

 

God, he misses Tony.

 

Gravel smashes into dust beneath his battle boots as he closes the gap. He has maybe four seconds top to think of what to follow up with after “It’s good to see you, Tony” and for the life of him, he doesn’t care. He smiles, as warm as the sun as if the bullets had never hit him on the steps to the courthouse.

 

Tony does not look his way.

 

He knew it. _He fucking knew it!_

 

“Armour! Override Steve Rogers, eight four three eight!”

 

Steve screeches to a halt in the nick of time, catching Tony as he falls even as the last pieces of the armour parts from his body. He was unclothed, save for a black boxer briefs for modesty and swathes of blood-stained bandages around his chest and shoulders. Steve doesn’t know – wouldn’t have _asked_ if he knew –

 

“Call the medic!” he yells in the general direction of the Avengers. Only Jessica and Peter Parker break rank and jog towards them. Steve collects Tony’s prone form into his lap, securing him, and tracks for a pulse. Let there be a pulse –

 

“I say, call the medic!”

 

Jessica gasps, her hand raised to her lips as Peter wavers. “Yeah, medic. Medic!” He looks back and waves frantically. “We have a man down. We need the medic stat!”

 

Some of the so-called first words he planned to say to Tony when they finally meet involve polite insults and sarcasm. Something along the line of “Banged up job running the country, Stark” or “You’re the first one to have made Captain America consider moving to Canada”. How many times Steve has practiced those words in the mirror while shaving and flossing. All the times he could’ve said “Long time, Tony” or “Saw you on TV, are you alright?”. He rides in the ambulance with Tony, brooding and stewing in a corner as the medic staff fuss over their still unconscious patient. They throw jargons around a lot – none of which sound hopeful – but they haven’t gone for the defibrillator, not once. Steve has been eyeing that.

 

Then, they make him sit outside of Surgery for two hours.

 

When they wheel Tony into a private ward, a small team of Avengers has assembled by the nurse’s station. They’re going to stay the night – either to keep a vigil over their ex-comrade, or to try throttle him in his sleep, Steve isn’t very sure… but he nods at them, and follows the doctor into Tony’s room. And there he sits in that stupidly tiny plastic chair for all of the night and wee hours in the morning, when Tony slowly rouses to the world.

 

Must be his best sleep in eons.


	4. Chapter 4

For the longest of time, they lock eyes and not-blink, not-speak, not- _think_ – though Steve is fleetingly considering alerting the nurse or doctor in person if only to have an excuse to not be here. Tony’s features crumple with a weary frown, and Steve kicks himself up from the chair, searching for a glass of water. From the tail of his eye, he sees Tony’s cannulated wrist slithering under the sheets, so he pulls the railing down, and Tony grabs him. Still weak, but he holds on, and Steve stays. Tony’s bottom lips tremble with exertion – so many things to say – and Steve swallows thickly.

 

So many things to say... not all of them are necessary.

 

“Steve?” A mere whisper as loud and crisp as the first ray of the sun. “… Steve?”

 

“… Hey.”

 

And that is all. Tony falls back asleep by the time Steve finally locates some water and a reasonably clean straw. A wet trail glistens under those long lashes, paving down his ashen cheek. Steve thumbs it away just in time for Jessica to burst through the door with a letter in hand, the White House insignia on its header.

 

“A car is parked downstairs by the elevator lobby. They want you now, Steve.”

 

 

The country has seen the world according to Nick Fury. They’ve seen the world according to Tony Stark. And Lord in heaven, they’ve seen the world according to Norman Osborn, too. Now, they want Steve Rogers to answer the call. It’s not enough to put Osborn and the Dark Avengers on trial for their crimes. It’s not enough to officially shut down HAMMER effective immediately. It’s a consolation win to initiate peace accords with the Asgardians.

 

A new slate. The only way Steve knows how to _begin_ to set things right. He promises to repeal the SHRA on the day he is sworn in as SHIELD Commander. Divided, they fall. And the New Avengers shall rise like a phoenix reborn, from the ashes of the War. Tony, having been discharged from the hospital two days ago, proclaims that Steve’s inauguration deserves a get-together party, and boy, he throws one like he’s still made of money.

 

As Steve manoeuvres towards the buffet spread, people clamour around him to shake his hand and pat his back. All dazzling smiles and whooping. He sees hope and unity in every face, and for that short half an hour, Steve celebrates, too.   

 

Only, Tony isn’t in attendance. His absence echoes in _his house._

 

“Master Rogers,” Jarvis hands him a flute of champagne. “Congratulations on your inauguration this morning, Sir.”

 

“Thank you. Where’s Tony?”

 

A wan smile spreads across his elderly features, and he looks up to the lone window overlooking the pool. “Upstairs. He uh, seems somewhat distraught in the morning, and demands some privacy. But, morning has come and gone…”

 

Steve takes the hint and returns his champagne to Jarvis’ tray. Tony’s bedroom door is closed, and he hears nothing from inside. “Tony?” he calls as he raps on the door with his knuckles. “I’m coming in, alright?” And he finds Tony slouching on the edge of his bed, motionless, head bowed in defeat. It takes Steve a hot second to hurry forward and kneel before Tony, one large hand gently cupping his knee.

 

“What is it? Is it – is it the pain? Do you need, uh,” Steve looks around the nightstand frantically, “painkillers? Any medication? Or do you need the doctor?”

 

And slowly, _so_ slowly Tony musters the strength to look up into Steve’s blue eyes. “I… don’t remember how to tie my shoelaces.” Steve promptly drops his gaze to the carpet, and he sees a botched mess of shoestrings crisscrossing through all the wrong holes. The knots were… to put it kindly…

 

Steve sighs, and his heart clenches. But, the doctors said Tony is on his speedy way to recovery.

 

“It’ll come back to you.” Steve begins to undo the mistakes. “Let me?”

 

“I wasn’t… I didn’t think of coming back. I thought… you won’t…”

 

Won’t reboot Tony when they have a chance’s chance of success? “It wasn’t even a question, Tony. Of course we would.”

 

“Osborn was after the Database, Steve. The last copy was in my brain. I had to. I had to… forget. What I did to us. _To you_.”

 

He could count on Tony to get himself back to speed in mere hours despite spending most of last two weeks comatose. There’s no short of material should he wants to re-educate himself on the War and Captain’s America’s martyrdom. Just like this, a push of the button and a hard reset – a second chance reserved only for the likes of Tony Stark. Steve shakes his head and labours on the shoelaces, when he notices minute tremors beleaguering Tony’s right hand. He takes it gently in his, yet the quakes do not stop.

 

“Since when, Tony?”

 

“Since I woke up. Won’t stop, no matter what I do.” But, Tony’s a builder. Life has been crueller to Tony than he imagines. “I don’t know if… this will get better.”

 

“We’ll find a way.”

 

“If this is what it is, so you can stay, Steve – it’s worth it,” Tony’s voice cracks. “I prayed, sometimes, and you know how rare that is,” he chuckles wetly, “I prayed, that by some miracle if I could trade places with you…” The hand in Steve’s shake like crazy, and it’s not some residual aftermath of neuron damages. “I tried, Steve. God, I _tried_ to make things right, to move on _,_ but I _can’t._ ”

 

And Tony lets go. He cradles his face in his free hand and he lets go, as Steve sits there on the floor. And all the way back by the bedroom door which Steve hasn’t shut properly in his panic of reaching Tony first, he sees Jessica rooted to the floor, one hand frozen on the door knob, the other clutching a glass of what looks like alfalfa sprouts juice. Her gaze is set firmly on Tony’s back, still stuttering with every sob, and she turns around quietly, shooing what must be a small group of party guests – Avengers, friends, blood brothers and sisters – to be quiet and leave.

 

The door closes behind her with a curt tap.   

 

… This will get better. And that’s a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this :) Next up, Avengers Prime!


End file.
